


Our Gentle Sin

by BlackUnicorn



Series: Because, Love, We Have Endured [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Has All the Genders (Good Omens), Crowley Has Long Hair (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Kids (Good Omens), Crowley is Good With Kids (Good Omens), Crowley's Bentley (Good Omens), Established Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Gen, Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), Happy Ending, Hell, Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Kid Fic, Kidnapping, M/M, Multi, Other, POV Alternating, Post-Apocalypse, Post-Canon, Protective Crowley, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:03:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22960636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackUnicorn/pseuds/BlackUnicorn
Summary: A 16-year-old boy arrives in London in search of something that he cannot name but that he might or might not find in an old bookshop in Soho. Another 16-year-old boy is having a normal summer day, until he isn’t. A third 16-year-old boy is kidnapped by a Demon seeking revenge on another Demon, and all the while an ethereal and an occult being try their best to protect the future.ORA story of mistakes, misunderstandings, and miscommunications told by three teenagers that really just want to live their lives in peace…
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens)
Series: Because, Love, We Have Endured [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1697107
Comments: 13
Kudos: 105





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This has been in the making for quite some time now and I am so happy I managed to finish it while procrastinating on my college assignments.  
> There is no mention anywhere on what Greasy Johnson's first name might be, so I called him Steve. Don't ask me why.  
> The footnotes are fake again, sorry about that.

He had no idea how he’d gotten here. Well. That wasn’t quite true, technically…he knew how he’d _gotten_ here – remembered burrowing his step-dad’s credit card and buying a fake passport and a flight to England, remembered arriving at the airport with nothing but a small backpack, remembered boarding the plane and leaving it again in London Heathrow…but none of that explained _how_ he’d gotten here.

But let’s begin at the beginning.

Warlock Dowling’s life had always been…unconventional. Weird even. But overall okay.

And then he had been forced to stand by and watch it all fall apart – not all at once, no, these things never happen all at once, but slowly, piece by piece, bit by bit, brick by brick, until there was nothing left but ruins.

Warlock was 11 and his father suddenly lost his job1.

Warlock was 12 and found himself in an American boarding school so far from home2.

Warlock was 13 and his parents sat him down to announce their divorce3.

Warlock was 14 and attended his own mother’s wedding4.

Warlock was 15 and held his newly born baby sister in his arms5.

Warlock was 16 and stood in a small street in Soho, London, England, not knowing why…

It had seemed like a good idea at the time, following the Feeling. Warlock was used to Feelings. He had learned a long time ago that he did good listening to them. He had also learned that he did good not talking about them.

There were many things Warlock had learned not to talk about. Weird things. Not that anything weird ever happened _to_ him, only ever _around_ him.

Like his Nanny.

Like Brother Francis.

Like Creepy Guy in the middle of nowhere Megiddo.

Mind you, he’d tried talking about them, except no one but him seemed to remember any of those things ever happening and if he hadn’t had a certain collection of things6 reminding him of Nanny Ashtoreth and Brother Francis, he might have seriously believed that he had only made them but, but as it were, he did so he hadn’t.

Which brings us back to the here and now.

Why here exactly, Warlock wasn’t sure, but he supposed _here_ was as good as _there_ or any place he could be, really, and definitely better than the house he’d been forced to call his home for the last two years.

The teenage boy stood in the little street, behind him an old, black car, in front of him, an equally old bookshop that proclaimed to be closed which Warlock graciously(?) ignored.

There were places on earth that had a certain air about them, an aura, if you will, as if they weren’t quite part of this world, untouched by the Outside, where time moved differently.

The bell above his head chimed and chimed again as Warlock entered and the door fell closed behind him. The eerie silence enveloped him. Expecting. Waiting. Waiting for what, he didn’t know, just that it was.

And yet…he felt oddly safe, here, surrounded by piles upon piles of ancient books, the dust dancing in the sunbeams falling through the windows, like nothing could touch him, not while he was here, in this liminal space.

“Pretty sure that sign on the door says closed.”

Warlock did not yelp, thankyouverymuch, he might have, however, suffered a minor heart attack, died, gone to a further unspecified afterlife, and then sent back to his body which must have turned around because he was now facing the person hazardously leaning against a bookshelf, arms crossed and eyes hidden by a pair of sunglasses.

Now, any sensible person would have probably a) been scared out their mind at the sight in front of them, b) tried to apologize profoundly for trespassing, and c) left as fast possible with a mental note to never set foot into Soho ever again.

Let it be known that Warlock Dowling was not a sensible person.

“I know you!” he exclaimed, following the Feeling. It wasn’t a lie. At least he didn’t think it was.

The probably-not-stranger tilted their head and the sunglasses slid down the sharp back of their nose, allowing Warlock a glimpse of what he could have sworn were yellow eyes, but before he could ponder on that any further, a slender finger raised up to push the glasses back into place in a painfully familiar gesture that made Warlock’s heart clench.

_It can’t be…_

“Nanny?”

A smile just a little bit too sharp and the probably-not-stranger-that-might-be-his-old-Nanny stepped forward into the light. Warlock watched in silent wonder as fiery red hair slowly grew out and collected itself into a strict knot, as tight clothes loosened around the slim frame and turned into a dark, long dress, smoothly and fluidly until –

“Hello my little hellspawn.”

\- Warlock stood in front of his old Nanny Ashtoreth who looked exactly like Warlock remembered her from five years ago.

“Nanny.” Under different circumstances, Warlock might have been ashamed of the wobble in his voice and the tears in his eyes but right here, right now, he was amongst friends, he was safe, he was home.

“Come here, boy,” Nanny ordered, opening her arms and Warlock fell into the embrace as if he was still 6 and afraid of the monster under his bed, instead of 16 and painfully aware that all monsters were very much human and usually occupying various positions in governments and company boards. “It’s alright now, laddie, Nanny’s got ya.”

And for the first time in 5 years, Warlock allowed himself to cry.

(1 This, in and of itself, could have even been considered a good thing since being the American Ambassador didn’t allow for much father-son bonding time.)

(2 Again, under different circumstance this would have been fine, great even, if it wasn’t for the fact that everyone knew about Thaddeus Dowling’s unhonourable fate, made fun of Warlock for his accent, and that Warlock had, for a lack of a better word, been quite literally shipped off to another country without his friends or family.)

(3 The marriage had been one of convenience in the first place. Let it be known that there was no love lost between Harriet and Thaddeus Dowling and the separation was something that had been a long time coming…)

(4 Richard Ferguson Mitchell was a rich businessman who cared even less about Warlock than Thaddeus Dowling had and who didn’t even try to hide the various affairs he had on the side with women much younger than his new wife.)

(5 Half-sister but whatever. Annabel Mitchell was the light of Warlock’s life and he loved her with all his heart, even if she clearly was the favourite of the two kids.)

(6 there was a first edition book of the original Grimm Fairytales that Nanny had given him for his fifth birthday and which, despite being macabre and really not suitable for children, had been, and still was, his all-time favourite book; there was the old, golden pocket watch that Brother Francis had given him on the same day which he wound up each morning religiously and never put out of reach; there was a photo of the three of them under an apple tree, the only photo he had of his old Nanny and gardener)

* * *

Adam was having a quite ordinary, if boring, day.

Wensleydale was in Greece with his parents, Brian was visiting family in Cardiff, and Pepper had bonding-day with her mum in London, leaving the 16-year-old boy and former Antichrist, and his hellhound7, Dog, to their own devices in the little town called Tadfield.

Where Tadfield had been mostly untouched by change for most of Adam’s life, it seemed that time had finally caught up with it8, as Adam moved farther and farther away from his 11th birthday. He wasn’t the Antichrist anymore, he’d declined that power five years ago at Tadfield Airbase, staring down the Devil himself with an Angel and a Demon on his shoulder, and the older he got, the more his powers faded away, leaving nothing but a vague shadow of what they once had been. Not that Adam was complaining. All he wanted, all he had ever wanted, was to have a normal life.

Adam was having a quite ordinary, if boring, day – and then the Archangel fucking Gabriel and the Lord Beelzebub, Prince of Hell, stood before him, looking equally terrified and terrifying.

The teenager froze while his dog was torn between running from these clearly non-human creatures and protecting his master at all costs9.

“Hello, human child,” Gabriel greeted him, his wide smile just this side of too sharp to look menacing, as he stepped even closer.

Adam gulped. “Hello?” Adam hated that the word came out as a question, but the truth was, he was truly powerless against the Angel and the Demon in front of him and if they should decide that letting him live his life had been a mistake…well…there really was nothing he could do about it.

“You are zzzcaring the child, Gabriel,” Beelzebub said, the buzzing prominent in their voice as they laid a hand on the Angel’s arm, pulling him back a bit, “We are not here to threaten you, boy.”

_Then why are you here?_ Adam wanted to ask but refrained, instead taking a step back himself to bring some more distance between himself and the two supernatural beings.

“We are here because we…require assistance,” Gabriel explained, pulling a face as if speaking those words alone caused him physical pain.

_Assistance?_ Adam wanted to ask but, again, stayed quiet. _Better not risk it_.

“We have found ourselvezzz in…a predicament,” Beelzebub elaborated as if that cleared things up. It didn’t.

“You will help us,” Gabriel commanded and that, finally, loosened Adam’s tongue.

“Will I?” he snapped, “The last time we saw each other you tried to end the world, why would I help you?” Now, Antichrist or not, Adam had developed enough self-awareness to admit that, more often than not, he was anything but smart10, of course, possessing such knowledge didn’t stop him from being not-smart, it just made it twice as painful.

Gabriel, face red and eyes glowing, took a step forward, ignoring the Demon’s sounds of protest. “Because I demand it. Because if you don’t I will reduce you and your friends to ashes,” he growled, three pairs of wings breaking through the planes of reality, casting shadows on Adam who did his best to stand his ground no matter that every fibre in his body screamed at him to _fucking run you idiot, run fast and run far and never look back_.

“Gabriel!” Beelzebub cried out and maybe Adam was imagining it, but it almost looked like the Prince of Hell was rolling their eyes, what Adam definitely wasn’t imagining was the way Gabriel visibly deflated, wings tucked back into whatever dimension they came from, the fire burning through his corporeal form slowly fading. “Boy – Adam –” the Demon began, their outer calm betrayed by the flies buzzing around their head, “What happened in the past wazzz…unfortunate…but we do not hold it against you anymore. Since then, thingzzz have changed and we are – we are –” they faltered, the frustration almost palpable as more and more flies began circling their head, “We are –”

“- Asking for help,” Gabriel supplied, the red in his cheeks turned to green at the prospect of asking a human for help.

And Adam, well…Adam had questions, many, many questions, but for now he contented himself with just the one. “What kind of help?” he asked, before adding, “And why are you asking me?” Okay, maybe two questions.

“You are,” Gabriel began, “As a young, human male, the ideal solution for our…predicament.”

_Well_ , thought Adam, _that sounds ominous_.

Not really seeing any other option but to agree, the teenager sighed. “Alright.”

“Perfect!” Gabriel clapped his hands, his eyes suddenly filled with joy and something that might have been relief, and then, before Adam could properly progress what was happening, two hands grabbed his arms and the streets of Tadfield disappeared around him, replaced by the inside of a room.

“What –” Adam’s question was cut off by a shrill, ear shattering noise that filled the air, drilling into Adam, rendering him frozen in place.

“Shush!” Beelzebub’s voice commanded and, miraculously, the noise stopped.

Adam took the opportunity to properly look around the room; it was a bedroom, the walls boringly grey, the window covered by heavy, grey curtains, a massive mirror hanging over the bed –

His mind screeched to a halt.

There, on the bed, lay a bundle of blankets. A bundle that wiggled slightly as Beelzebub approached it. A bundle that made very unbundle-like noises when the Demon picked it up. A bundle that –

“We’ve been keeping it alive with miracles,” Beelzebub explained, holding the bundle out for Adam to hold who took, too stunned to do much else.

Wrapped in blankets, and now securely cradled in Adam’s arms, was a little baby with strikingly purple eyes and black hair.

_Oh, fuck._

(7 retired)

(8 It was actually the other way around)

(9 Just like Adam, Dog had been losing more and more of his infernality over the years, rendering him nothing more than a mongrel yapping away on the sidewalk)

(10 matter of fact, it was Pepper who had won the brain-lottery. Sometimes she wondered what she had done to deserve three dumb, male friends that wouldn’t have lived past six if it hadn’t been for her.)

* * *

It had been a bloody long week11 and Steve Johnson decided that he was thoroughly done with this day. First, his girlfriend, Tammy, had broken up with him through a text message, then he’d found his favourite goldfish, Harry, dead in the aquarium, _then_ they didn’t have his favourite ice cream12 at the shop so he couldn’t even eat his feelings away, and _then_ Adam fucking Young’s fucking _dog_ kept following him around like…whatever follows people around that quite decidedly _do not_ want to be followed.

“For fuck’s sake, what do you want from me!?” Steve cried out after the fifth time the stupid animal had bitten his shoe.

“Watch your language, young man!” Mr. Tyler yelled from across the road, but Steve ignored him…The sad old sod could scream until he went hoarse for all he cared.

The dog kept yapping.

“Shut up,” Steve snapped but, of course, it was no good, “Shut up, you little rat –”

The little rat in question started whimpering, tail pulled between its legs and Steve frowned, surely, he hadn’t scared the ankle-biter that much? From somewhere nearby, Steve could smell something like rotten eggs, mold, and shit, and he wrinkled his nose, not noticing the dark figure lurking in the shadow until it had pulled a bag over his head and pulled him down, down, down, through the earth to a place where no human had ever gone and come back to tell the tale.

(11 It was Monday, 1:43 p.m.)

(12 Peppermint chocolate chip)


	2. Chapter 2

Angels.

Demons.

The Antichrist.

The Apocalypse.

Warlock’s brain was a bit melted and some part of his mind fought violently against the mere thought that what he’d just been told could possibly be real, the rest of him, however? The rest of him thought, _wow, that explains a lot_.

“You have always been a bit…odd…” he said now after Nanny and Brother Francis – _Crowley and Aziraphale_ , he reminded himself – had finished.

“I guess we were,” the blond agreed, chuckling lightly.

Warlock nodded, more to himself than anyone else, slowly adjusting to the new reality he’d been dumped in….and yet…

“But why’d you leave?” he finally asked the question that had been burning on his mind for the past five years, “I get that there was stuff going on and you had to deal with that but why…?” _Why’d you never come back?_ The words hung in the air between them, unsaid but not unheard. “I always knew there was something going on, y’know? ‘twas hard not to. All my cuts and bruises healing overnight, we always had perfect weather when we went out, they’d always have my favourite ice cream or cake even though they said they hadn’t, I just…I knew but I didn’t know. I didn’t know it was you I thought…” _I thought it was me_. “I guess I just thought I was special, because you kept telling me that I was.”

“You are special Warlock,” Br – Aziraphale cut in, his voice soft and so damn earnest, while next to him, Crowley sat perfectly still, her face unreadable.

“Not special enough for you stick around.” It was a low blow, petulant, childish, but so true and Warlock didn’t really care, not anymore, not right now.

“No, that’s not –” Aziraphale began but was cut off by Crowley.

“Angel,” the Demon1 muttered, turning towards Warlock and making sure he met her eyes2, “Warlock, darling, what we did, abandoning you like that, that was a mistake,” she explained, her accent travelling North, sounding more and more like Nanny, it almost hurt, “We made a mistake and it ended up hurting you and we’re sorry.”

Warlock’s eyes were still, or maybe yet again, suspiciously wet as he took in his old nanny. “You told me to never apologize for anything,” he muttered, not knowing what else to say, and Crowley smiled faintly.

“I did,” she admitted, voice soft, “Do you remember when I found you eating all the chocolate one Christmas and you said you hadn’t even though it was all over you face?”

Warlock nodded, his brows knitted together, “You said it’s okay to break the rules as long as I don’t get caught.”

“And why’s that?”

“’cause actions have consequences.”

“Because actions have consequences,” Crowley echoed, “Sometimes you can’t know them until it’s too late. Warlock, by the time we realised what we’d done, it was already too late. You were a perfectly human child who could have grown up into a perfectly human adult, if it hadn’t been for us, then we had to leave to find the real Antichrist and then –” she paused, eyes wide and unblinking and earnest, “- And then we decided that we’d meddled enough with your life as it was.”

There was a part of Warlock that wanted to scream and shout because _who are you to decide what’s best for me? Who are you to give me something so good and then take it away? Who are you to regret any of it?_

“You were the best part about my life,” he said instead, gaze trained on his own hands clasped in his lap, ashamed of how blurry his vision was.

There was a hand on his. Gentle and slightly rough with black painted nails.

“Look at me, my little hell spawn,” Crowley all but whispered, the little hell spawn in question finding himself unable to not do as his old nanny said, “You were _mine_. And I loved you. And I don’t regret a second that I spend with you.”

Maybe it was growing up as the son of a diplomat, always surrounded by important, rich, inherently dishonest people, or maybe it was being raised by two supernatural beings with supernatural powers, but Warlock had a gift for knowing when people lied to him – Crowley was not lying.

“Even if I’m not the Antichrist?”

“Especially since you’re not the Antichrist.”

There was more, there was always more, but for now Warlock thought he could work with what he had.

“Okay,” he said slowly, allowing himself to look at Aziraphale who had sat still and quiet, eyes fixed on the Demon, filled with pride and adoration and love, “Okay.”

And then everything went kind of tits up.

(1 Warlock mentally shook his head at himself, the concepts of _Demons_ and _Angels_ still kind of blowing his mind.)

(2 Golden ember like Citrine and honey and candle light. They were beautiful, Warlock thought. Terrifying but beautiful.)

* * *

At 16, Adam had never held a baby in his arms3. In fact, his baby-knowledge began and ended with the fact that they were miniature humans that were, with a lot of time and care, supposed to grow into regular sized humans, and yet…it seemed that that was still more than the Demon and Angel in front of him knew.

“It was an accident,” the Lord of Flies explained, at least having the decency to look somewhat remorseful, “We didn’t know it could happen and then…” they waved a hand in the general direction of Adam and the baby, making it clear what the end of that sentence was supposed to be.

“And – er –” Adam cleared his throat, “And why am I here?” He wasn’t even going to go anywhere near the fact that apparently the Archangel Gabriel and the Prince of Hell Beelzebub had done the nasty and ended up with a child…

“You are a young male, yes?” Gabriel spoke up, “Is it not custom for young males to acquire a child?”

Adam blinked.

_I’m 16_ , he wanted to say, _my parents would kill me if I knocked up some girl_ 4

“I. Guess…?” he said instead, the words sounding more like a question than an actual answer.

“Perfect!” the Angel in front of him cheered, “That’s settled then. You will take care of this child.”

Adam blinked.

_I’m 16_ , he wanted to say, _I don’t know how_.

“But why don’t you do it yourself?” he asked, trying to sound as unjudgmental as possible.

There was a moment in which Adam was sure he wouldn’t get an answer, Beelzebub and Gabriel exchanging meaningful glances that escalated into an entire argument without speaking a single word. Then –

“Our sidezzz are already suspiciouzzz,” the Demon confessed, “And they are restlezzz and want another war. We need to go back and settle things once and for all to protect thizzz child.”

It probably said a lot of things about Adam’s life that the prospect of a war with Heaven and Hell did not particularly alert him, what did, however, alert him very much was being left alone with an infant.

“Okay,” he began, nodding to himself, “But why me? Why not Crowley and Aziraphale?”

It was the wrong thing to say.

“You ask too many questions boy!” Gabriel snapped as soon as the names of his kind of but not really godparents left his mouth, “We do not consort with those traitors!”

“Okay, okay, got it.” Adam gulped audibly. “But, consider this, they have far more experience with this sort of thing and…is this kid even human?”

“We don’t know,” Beelzebub answered.

“Oh…alright then.” Adam wondered how he’d gotten himself in this situation. Was this the punishment for not going through with Armageddon? For nicking that bottle of whisky the other day? For not eating his veggies as a kid? Who even knew, Adam certainly didn’t. “Alright, then,” he repeated, “I’ll just…just take it, then…do you…have a name?”

Angel and Demon looked at each other before turning towards Adam and answering, “Chava.”

(3 even more, he’d never wanted to hold a baby in his arms…)

(4 and if they wouldn’t than Pepper definitely would.)

* * *

When Steve opened his eyes, he saw…nothing. It wasn’t that there was nothing there to see, but rather that he couldn’t see if there was anything there. It was dark. Dark and damp and cold.

“H – hello?” he called out, trying to breathe, trying to think.

“You’re awake,” a grimy, sinister voice said, followed by steps, and then Steve was hit by the smell of rotten eggs, mold, and shit. The same smell as before.

“Who are you?” he asked, “What do you want from me? Where am I?”

“So many questions,” the stranger answered. Another step, another wave of the sickening smell, “I can see why Crowley likes you.”

_Who’s Crowley?_ Steve thought before deciding that he had Bigger Problems.

“Look, man, just let me go,” he tried, “I swear I won’t go to the police, no one’s gonna know about this, just…let me go.”

“I will,” the voice said, “Eventually.” And that…did not sound good. “In the meantime, welcome to Hell!”

Something changed. Steve couldn’t even say what it was just that suddenly he could _see_ and he wished he couldn’t, wished he could go back to the darkness that had enveloped him, wished he could just wake up from this nightmare.

The walls, covered in dark scorch marks, looked somehow incredibly slimy, with posters stuck to it5. There were no windows, just the bare bricks. There was no furniture, just the cold, hard floor Steve was sitting on, a singular metal door in the right corner. It certainly looked like hell. As did the guy standing in the middle of the room. He was tall, looming over Steve with dirty blonde hair and – _is that a fucking toad on his head?_

Shivering, Steve hugged himself, arms slung tightly around his stomach. _A dream_ , he thought, _this just a bad dream, and when I wake up, everything will be fine_ – Tammy would still be his girlfriend, Harry would still be alive, and he’d go out to get some peppermint chocolate chip ice cream and – _Oh god, Harry!_ If this was Hell, did that mean there was a Heaven? Where would Harry be? He’d always been a good fish, never caused any trouble, was never mean to the other fish, he deserved to go somewhere nice, somewhere with loads of other fish so he could have friends, and –

“Are...are you crying?” Toad-man asked, and Steve froze, one hand reaching up to his face which was, indeed, suspiciously wet, “Stop that!”

“Wh – what are you go – gonna do to me?” Steve asked, his breath hitching around the sobs wrung from his lungs.

“I will use you to finally get Crowley and his pet Angel to get out of hiding,” Toad-man explained, “I will keep you here until that snake finally pays for what he’s done. I might not be able to kill him, but I can still make him hurt!”

Steve had no idea what any of that meant, but he was sure that he also didn’t want to know.

“I just want to go home,” he whispered, more to himself than the guy in front of him. He closed his eyes, shutting out the awful room he was trapped in, hoping against all hope that, when he opened them again, he would be in his bed, covered by his favourite blanket, hugging his pillow.

“They really don’t make ‘em like they used to…” Toad-man muttered, and Steve could hear him walk away, could hear the door open and close and then he was alone.

Completely, utterly, alone.

(5 ‘Remember, you are worthless’, one of them said, ‘Don’t bother asking for help, you won’t get it’, was written on another one.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The name Chava is Hebrew and means 'life'. It's also the biblical form of Eve.


	3. Chapter 3

The ancient phone on the desk started ringing.

At the same time, the table caught fire.

“Oh dear!” Aziraphale exclaimed, staring at the flames while Crowley let out a sound that, coming from anyone else, would be classified as a screech, and a second later there was a gigantic snake where the Demon had been, hissing furiously, and Warlock quickly grabbed his cup of tea that he hadn’t even touched and emptied it over the fire which went out with a rather pathetic _pshh_.

The phone was still ringing.

“Oh dear,” Aziraphale repeated and stood up to answer the phone.

“What?”

Warlock turned his head to look at Crowley who had turned back into a human shaped form, rather more masculine than before but still wearing the dress, holding a piece of slightly charred paper between his long fingers. Craning his neck, Warlock read, ‘ _I have the boy, surrender or he will die_ ’.

Behind them, Aziraphale hung up the phone, wringing his hands, “That was Adam,” he said, “Apparently Gabriel and Beelzebub left him with a baby somewhere in Switzerland.”

Crowley dropped the piece of paper. “ _What_?!”

* * *

Adam wasn’t sure what had just happened. One moment he’d been home, then an Angel and a Demon had dragged him away to give him a baby, and now they had left him here, in this unknown place, with the baby and no way to get back home.

“Fucking Switzerland of all places,” he thought, readjusting his hold on little Chava as he pulled out his phone to call Aziraphale’s bookshop.

_Pick up, pick up, pick up._

“ _Hello?_ ” The voice on the other end of the line sounded out of breath and oddly distressed. In the background, Adam could hear a faint “ _What?_ ”.

Shaking his head, Adam began to explain, “Aziraphale, I need your help. I’m fine, so don’t worry, but Gabriel and Beelzebub took me to Switzerland and left me here with a baby and I don’t know how to get back.”

“ _Of course, dear boy_ ,” Aziraphale said, as if Adam hadn’t been kidnapped by his former employer and was now stuck in a different country across the Channel, “ _Just – just give us a moment to sort things out on our end. Won’t take long. Two shakes of lamb’s tale, really, yes? Perfect. Pip pip._ ”

The line went dead, leaving Adam to stare at his phone in disbelief. He was never going to really understand the Angel.

On his lap, Chava started crying.

_Fuck me…_

* * *

Steve didn’t know how long it had been. Hours? Days? Weeks?

No one had come into his cell yet, which he counted as a good thing, of course that also meant that he hadn’t eaten or drunken anything since he’d come here. Wherever here was.

_Welcome to Hell_ , the weird creepy guy with the toad had said, which was ridiculous, of course, but then again, Steve was open to suggestions at this point because he’d never seen anything like this, and he didn’t think even his brain could make up this place in his darkest nightmares. Every so often, something leaked through the ceilings, drip-drip-dripping down the walls, something that could be blood or could be muddy water, or could be something else completely, leaving the floor wet and the air filled with smells that Steve couldn’t even name as he cowered in the corner, shivering. The tears had long since run dry, leaving his throat aching and his mind exhausted.

_Why is this happening to me?_

Steve knew he wasn’t always a good person1, but he didn’t deserve this, surely?

_Maybe I should have been nicer to Adam and his friends_ , he mused, _but it’s not like I started it_ 2.

_Maybe I should have told mum I loved her this morning_ 3 _._

_Maybe I shouldn’t have stolen Mr. Tyler’s apples the other day_ 4 _._

Metal grinding against metal, the door swung open and Toad-man entered, letting the door fall shut behind him before starting to pace the room.

“Please –” Steve tried again but interrupted when Toad-man spun around, pitch-black eyes wide and crazed, staring at him.

“Shut up!” he screamed. Some of the plastering trickled from the ceiling down to the floor. “Can you believe it? Lord Beelzebub themselves, the Prince of Hell, tells me that we have more pressing concerns at the moment than making the traitor Crowley pay for his crimes!” Again, Steve would have very much liked to ask who the hell Crowley was but, again, speaking of more pressing concerns…

“What are you gonna do to me?” Steve asked, not sure if he even wanted to know the answer.

“I’m gonna take you with me,” the Toad-man said, visibly calmer now after his rant, a calm that concerned Steve more than the burning hot anger a moment ago, “The traitor has received my message, it will only be a matter of time until he reveals himself. He’s always been a sentimental, pathetic excuse for a demon, getting attached to his human pets, he won’t stand to see one of them hurt.”

Steve gulped, a shiver running down his spine. This was not what he had imagined his day to go like. This was not how had imagined any day to go like. Before he could say or do anything, however, the man had quickly bridged the distance between them and hoisted Steve up to his feet, an unforgiving hand holding onto Steve’s arm tightly enough to bruise, dragging him towards the door. The corridor was very much like the room, dark and damp and slimy, more posters covering the walls5 and Steve quickly shut his eyes, simply letting the Toad-man lead him towards whatever place they were going.

(1 He wasn’t even always a pleasant person)

(2 At this point, no one even knew anymore who had started what and why exactly the Them and the Johnsonites hated each other so much, just that they did and that it was better that way, because, after all, what would Tadfield be without them?)

(3 Things had been rather strained in the Johnson household lately, ever since Steve had found the adoption papers on his 16th birthday a week ago.)

(4 Steve didn’t even like apples, but he disliked Mr. Tyler even more and it really was ridiculous how protective he was of that damn tree.)

(5 ‘You are not enough’, ‘No one loves you’, ‘Don’t even try, you’ll fail’)

* * *

“Poor Adam,” Aziraphale sighed, “However are we going to get him out of Switzerland?”

“Can’t you just…I dunno…do a miracle?” Warlock suggested, feeling slightly worried for the increasingly frantic Angel.

“It doesn’t work like that, I’m afraid,” said Angel all but whined, stomping his feet6 before resuming his pacing up and down the room.

Up and down.

Up and down.

Up and down.

“There’re lines even we can’t cross,” Crowley explained to Warlock, even if his eyes were fixed on Aziraphale7. “Short-distance? I can see where I’m going? No problem. Or places that we know well, that we’re familiar with. But just nipping over to Switzerland?” He shook his head. “We’ll need something else.”

“Where in Switzerland is he, then?” Warlock asked, out of lack for something better to say.

“Excellent question.” Crowley snapped his finger at the boy and looked expectantly at Aziraphale. “Angel, where exactly is Adam?”

Up and down.

Up and down.

Up and – Aziraphale stopped, turning his head towards the Demon and the teenager sitting on the sofa.

“Zurich.”

“That’s got an airport, doesn’t it?”

“Airport!” Crowley exclaimed, his eyes wide and completely taken over by the yellow of his irises as he scrambled for his phone somewhere between the cushions. “Adam!” he all but shouted once he’d gotten hold of the device and, undoubtfully, called the Antichrist8, “Go to the airport. I think you’ll find a flight miraculously waiting for you there that will bring you straight to London. We’ll pick you up.”

(6 It made him look more like a petulant six-year old child than the frustrated 6-millenia old Angel he actually was)

(7 Up and down. Up and down. Up and down.)

(8 retired)

* * *

“We’ll pick you up,” Crowley said over the line before hanging up.

Now, Adam had lost most if powers over the years – most, not all – but that didn’t make him an ordinary teenager, far from it. He had, after all, spend his childhood slaying dragons and hunting witches and, on one memorable occasion, being an MI6 agent. Point is, Adam had imagination and determination a-plenty and it surely didn’t do any harm that he’d kept his boyish charm that no one seemed to be able to resist.

When he got to the airport there was, indeed, a flight waiting for him. Maybe it was luck, maybe demonic influence, or maybe leftovers of his own powers but no one stopped him to ask what he was doing with a baby in his arms, a baby that had fallen asleep halfway to the airport.

“What am I gonna do with you, huh?” he whispered into the baby’s ear, arms tightly wrapped around the little bundle of blankets while they flew through the clouds together, high, high, high above the ocean. In a way, Adam supposed, he should be grateful. Being snapped to Switzerland definitely made this day more interesting even if, and that was the tricky bit, it was still unclear at what cost.

_I just hope Crowley and Aziraphale know what to do_ , the teenager mused, letting his gaze glide to the window and outside where sky was white. 

It wasn’t a long flight, barely two hours with perfect weather conditions and miraculously relaxed passengers and flight attendants, the security staff at London Heathrow found themselves more lenient, happy even, letting the woman with the expired passport through with nothing more than a stern look and a reminder to get it sorted soon and not sparing as much as a glance for the teenage boy carrying a baby.

Outside the airport a vintage Bentley was waiting for him, inside a Demon, an Angel, and a boy that seemed oddly familiar even through Adam was positive that he’d never seen him before in his life.

“Adam!” Aziraphale exclaimed, smiling brightly, “Why, it is so nice to see you again – oh, and who’s this?”

“Er – Gabriel and Beelzebub called them Chava,” Adam answered, getting into the car and completely missing the look between Crowley and Aziraphale.

“Oh that’s –” the Angel paused, clearly looking for words.

“Tickety-Boo?” Crowley offered.

“Am I ever going to live that down?”

“Nope,” the Demon answered, popping his ‘p’, and started driving.

“Anyway,” Aziraphale went on, “It was irresponsible of them to simply leave you with a baby like that, and in a different country no less.”

“It’s fine.” Adam shrugged, slightly bouncing Chava on his knee, before turning towards the other boy, “Hey, I’m Adam, by the way.”

“Yeah, I know,” the boy said, “Warlock.”

“Nice t’meet’cha.”

“You too.”

It was a bit maddening, this feeling. As if something inside of Warlock was calling out to him and the same something, deep, deep, deeply buried in Adam’s soul, was answering. It was also so not one of Adam’s priorities right now, so he elected to ignore it.

“Where are we going?” he asked instead.

“Back to the bookshop,” Crowley answered, speeding through the streets of London as if they weren’t in a constant state of rush hour, “It’s safest there. Just until we figure this out.”

He’d been to the bookshop a few times now, of course he had, his godparents9 lived there after all, but he couldn’t see how such an old building filled with very precious, very fragile books could be possibly safe. He didn’t say anything, however, simply settled into his seat and watched London rush past him.

(9 sort of )

* * *

To say Steve was confused would be an understatement. Toad Guy, whose name he still didn’t know, had dragged him outside of what looked like the House of Parliament10 before scaring a poor, unsuspecting cabbie to drive them to the airport only to go all the way back into the city centre, while the Demon kept muttering under his breath, curses and threats and swears that Steve had never heard before and preferably never wanted to hear again. They got out somewhere that Steve didn’t recognize11, surrounded by little restaurants, cafes and bakeries that made Steve’s stomach clench in hunger.

“Come on,” the Demon growled and so Steve staggered along. Some part if him wondered if he could ask for help, maybe, if he screamed and yelled and ran, someone would notice except he had the nagging suspicion that no one would as much as look at them even if he did that.

“Where are you taking me?” he dared ask after walking up and down the same street for about ten minutes.

“They’re here somewhere, they have to be here somewhere,” Toad Man said to himself over and over again, completely ignoring Steve as he peered into every side alley no matter how dark and dirty they looked.

Somewhere around the next corner, a car screeched to a halt and Steve could hear the faint sound of a crying baby.

(10 obvious, much?)

(11 this was the case for most places in London since he’d only been to the city a handful of times)


	4. Chapter 4

Warlock wasn’t sure anymore what exactly was going on. Crowley had parked the car outside the bookshop and Aziraphale had herded them all inside, throwing nervous glances up and down the street before vanishing into the back, muttering something about tea while the demon stared after him, and even though his eyes were hidden by the shades, Warlock had no doubt that they were heart-shaped right about now1.

“He’s not very good with children,” Crowley commented to the room at large before turning to the smallest child in the room. Warlock was just about to say that Aziraphale had done alright with him when he’d been a kid, but the words got kind of stuck in his throat when Crowley took Chava from Adam. Gently, so very gently, he snaked his arms around the little bundle of blankets and baby, cradling it close to his chest. “What are you then, huh?” he whispered, “Angel? Demon? Both?”

“Beelzebub said they don’t know,” Adam supplied, seeming a little more at ease now that the child was out his hands.

“Fair enough,” Crowley whispered. His gaze seemed to be fixed on little Chava which meant he completely missed Adam’s shrug.

“Is it a boy or a girl?” Warlock asked, for lack of anything better to say, looking at Adam for an answer.

“I didn’t check,” the other teenager said.

Crowley shook his head. “You humans and your obsession with gender,” he muttered, walking towards the couch, “Why don’t we wait for you do grow up and decide for yourself, eh?” It was a bit surreal, seeing this supernatural creature, this literal Demon from Hell, talking to a baby with so much softness, so much devotion2. Chava, for their part, simply stared up at Crowley with big, purple eyes, reaching out one tiny hand to grab for the sunglasses. “You want these?” Crowley asked, tapping his sunglasses and leaning further down until Chava could closer their fingers around them, pulling them off. “There you go, little devil, have at ‘em. That’s it.” When the demon had seemed soft before, it was nothing compared to what he looked like with his eyes barred. The sheer amount of love radiating from the Serpent of Eden was almost palpable even for Warlock who quickly averted his eyes to give them some privacy. His gaze fell on the door where Aziraphale stood, a tray with four cups of tea in his hands, frozen in place as if he’d just walked into a wall.

“Oh,” he breathed out, staring at his infernal boyfriend and the baby, “Oh, well.”

Something was happening here, something Warlock couldn’t possibly understand3 and wasn’t sure if he could ask. If he _should_ ask. His gaze wandered over to Adam who looked as uncomfortable as Warlock felt, their eyes meeting – a silent understanding to break the spell that had fallen over the bookshop in the gentlest way possible.

“Ehem,” Adam cleared his throat, not very subtle but it seemed to do the job since Aziraphale’s attention snapped back up to the two teenage boys and the Demon looked up from the baby. “What do we do now?”

“I rather think,” said Aziraphale, walking all the way into the room and setting down the tray, “That we need to find this child a family.”

“It has a family,” Crowley chipped in from the sofa, voice so much sharper now that it wasn’t aimed at Chava anymore.

“Crowley, dear, you can’t possibly be insinuating that –”

“I can and I am,” Crowley cut in, “Chava stays.”

The Angel and the Demon stared intently at each other for several minutes until Aziraphale took a deep breath, turned towards the two teenage boys, a painfully fake smile plastered to his face and said, “Would you two mind terribly waiting in the other room? There’s a good lad,” before returning his attention back to Crowley, completely ignoring Warlock and Adam who retreated into the back room.

Warlock tried his best to concentrate on all the books, ignoring the increasingly raised voices from the other room but without success. His eyes fell on Adam who had his ear pressed to the door. Listening.

“I don’t think they want us to hear,” Warlock remarked.

Adam glanced at him, eyebrows raised. “And do you always do what people tell you?” he challenged before going back to eavesdropping.

Warlock stared. He didn’t want to hear his old nanny and Aziraphale fight but also – _fuck it_ , he thought and joined Adam at the door just in time to hear Crowley say, “- human, angel.”

“Exactly!” the Angel in question exclaimed, “They might be human, and you know what that means.”

“Do I? Pray tell, what doesss it mean?” The hiss was audible even through the piece of wood separating them, a clear sign that Crowley was getting worked up over this.

“It means they will grow old. And they’ll die. Because that’s what humans do.”

“I don’t care. I’m sssick of children alwaysss getting the short end of the ssstick,” Crowley replied. Warlock could hear footsteps. Someone pacing up and down the room “This baby has done nothing and yet it’s already been abandoned once and now, what? You want to just drop it on someone’s doorstep and hope they give them a good life?”

The pacing stopped. “Do not put words in my mouth, Crowley,” Aziraphale demanded, softer now and somewhat pained. “I’m trying to keep you from getting hurt!”

“Aziraphale. Angel. Please.”

There was a moment of silence and Warlock didn’t have to be in the room to know what was happening. He’d spent eleven years of his live watching the two supernatural entities, knew that they were currently staring at each other, a silent battle of wills. Then –

“Eighty, maybe ninety years,” Aziraphale said eventually, sounding defeated, “And that’s it. What’s ninety years compared to eternity.”

“And what good is eternity if you can’t allow yourself to enjoy it once in a while?”

Whatever Aziraphale said next was too quiet to hear. Hushed, muffled voices that Warlock couldn’t make out, followed by footsteps and the door being opened suddenly. Both Warlock and Adam nearly fell headfirst into Aziraphale who frowned at them in obvious displeasure.

“I’m pretty sure I taught you better than to get caught while eavesdropping,” Crowley remarked from where he still sitting on the couch, his accent slipping into the familiar harshness Warlock was used to from his childhood. He didn’t look too angry though, more like he was trying very hard not to laugh.

“Sorry, nanny,” Warlock still muttered, looking down towards his feet, shame rising inside of him at getting caught.

“So, what are you gonna do?” Adam asked, seemingly oblivious to Warlock’s emotional turmoil.

Crowley and Aziraphale exchanged one last look before Aziraphale announced, with all the resignation of a man digging his own grave, “Chava stays.”

(1 as a matter of fact, Crowley’s exact expression was along the lines of ‘I can’t believe I fell in love with such an idiot, but here we are’)

(2 then again, this was how Crowley had treated Warlock as well, not that Warlock remembered)

(3 Unlike Warlock, Aziraphale could very much feel the love from Crowley and it had indeed been like walking against a wall when he’d entered the room, nearly dropping the tray altogether with how overwhelming all this was.)

* * *

“Beelzebub said Heaven and Hell are pushing to restart the War,” Adam said after they had all sat back down. Aziraphale still looked a bit miffed over agreeing to keep the baby, staring at Crowley with a very complicated expression on his face, soft and fond but also concerned and slightly disapproving.

“Yes,” the Angel said, glancing briefly at Adam, “We were afraid they would.”

“They also said they’re trying to settle things to keep the child safe.”

“Anything else?” Crowley asked, “Did they say anything else?”

Adam shrugged, letting his gaze wonder through the shop and towards the windows. “Not really,” he answered. This was not what he had signed up for.

“Maybe they’re on your side now?” Warlock chipped in. As far as Adam could see the other boy had only just learned about Heaven and Hell but he was taking it in strides.

Crowley snorted but it was Aziraphale that answered, “I very much doubt it, my dear boy.”

A mere day ago, Adam would have agreed. Surely, there was no way that Beelzebub and Gabriel of all infernal and ethereal beings would suddenly develop a something like a conscience, but now? They had seemed genuinely concerned about the child, especially the Prince of Hell, and while that might not have necessarily put them on the same side, it in the very least, gave them a common goal. On the other hand, Gabriel seemed to be having very strong opinions on the matter of Crowley and Aziraphale.

Still…

“You could try and talk to them?” Adam suggested half-heartedly, not really paying attention anymore as Aziraphale went off on another tangent why exactly that was “particularly ill-advised, my dear, considering the personal history between us and our respective Head Offices, or as I should rather say, ex-Head Offices –”

There was a man outside on the street. Except he wasn’t a man, was he? Not if the toad on his head and the vaguely slimy, rotten skin patches were anything to go by. Or the terrified looking boy by his side.

“Uhh, guys.”

“—not to mention the fact that execution without trial is exceedingly rude –”

“Guys.”

“—it would simply not do to endanger ourselves in such a way. And I highly doubt that Gabriel is keen on another encounter with us, a sentiment I quite share by the way –”

“Angel, shut up!” Crowley’s frantic voice finally seemed to have broken through Aziraphale’s ranting.

“Whatever is the matter, my dear?” he asked, sounding confused and maybe a tiny bit piqued.

“Look.” A long, slender finger, ending in a black painted nail, pointed towards the window and Aziraphale paled.

“Impossible!” the Angel exclaimed, standing up and attempting to move towards the door. Naturally, it stayed with the attempt. Crowley jumped to his feet, Chava safely cradled against his hip, and reached out to hold the Angel back by the shoulder.

“ _What_ are you doing?” he hissed.

“This is my street, Crowley, and you are the only Demon who has any business entering it.”

Adam was sure that Crowley would have loved to respond with an array of things but was interrupted when a) Warlock said, “That’s the guy from Megiddo”, whatever that was supposed to mean, and b) the bell of the door chimed as the Demon and the boy entered the shop.

* * *

Why exactly Toad Man was dragging him through the door of some old bookshop was beyond Steve but here they were4.

The shop looked empty. The bell above their heads, announcing their presence, was met with silence and even the noise from the street seemed muted. Peaceful, that’s what it felt like. Safe. Not that Toad Man seemed to agree with that sentiment. Currently he was sneering and wrinkling his nose as if smelling something foul5.

“Crooowley!” Toad Man called out on a sing-song voice that made Steve shudder, “I know you’re here, Crowley!”

There was a noise coming from behind one of the various shelves, a shuffle, a hushed voice, a muffled curse, and Toad Man started grinning maniacally before grabbing Steve’s arm and pulling him further inside the shop.

It was a testament to how much Steve’s life had been turned upside down, that the scene before his eyes was not the strangest thing he’d seen by far. Two men were standing in the middle of the room, one short and pudgy, dressed in a suit that wouldn’t have looked out of place in Steve’s grandad’s wardrobe, and a tall, slender man in a black dress and ling ginger hair, holding a baby. Both men looked like they were doing their best to stand in front of the other one, resulting in a ridiculous shuffling and pushing, until the blond one gave a surprisingly stern look. The redhead let out something that sounded like a rather animalistic hiss, but he stepped away, in front of the two boys sitting on the sofa, handing the baby to one of them, while the other one –

“Adam?”

“Hi, Steve.”

He had so many questions, but none came out, not with the way Toad Man’s hand was tightening around Steve’s arm, no doubt leaving bruises, threatening to crush the bones and muscles underneath.

“Crowley,” Toad Man growled.

The man with the red hair let out another hiss, and only now did Steve notice his eyes – bright yellow with snakelike pupils. The eyes of the Devil.

“I do believe that you have the wrong shop,” the other man – the one that stood straight and proud, the one that didn’t look like much of a threat except for the look in his eyes, dark and cold and disapproving – said. In a way, he seemed even scarier than Toad Man. “I will have to ask you to leave.”

Next to Steve, Toad Man actually did take a step back, barely noticeable but there nonetheless, a hesitation that made Steve’s heart beat a bit more frantically in his chest.

_Help me!_ He wanted to scream. _Please, help me!_

And then the moment was gone and Toad Man chuckled. “You don’t scare me, _Angel_ ,” he said, the last word like an insult on his lips, a mocking of something Steve didn’t understand, while the first part of the sentence was very obviously a lie.

The Angel sighed, looking very much annoyed with the inconvenience of having a bothersome intruder with a toad on his head in his shop, before looking right at Steve. “My dear,” he said, “Would you please be so kind as to close your eyes?” It was phrased like a question but something told Steve that it was far from that and he found himself shutting his eyes without questioning it. “Crowley, dear,” the Angel’s voice said.

“I know, Angel.” Where Toad Man’s word had sounded offensive and taunting, the redhead used it like an endearment, filled with adoration and love.

In the years to come, Steve couldn’t have said what happened next. There was a sound, whooshing and feathery. There was a light, bright and hot, bleeding through Steve’s tightly shut eyelids. There was a cry of pain or maybe fear, the hand on Steve’s arm tightening even further before letting go, before being replaced by another hand, gentler but also firm.

“Keep your eyes closed,” a voice told him and Steve did, wouldn’t know what else to do, “It will all be over soon.”

For some inexplicable6 reason, Steve believed him.

(4 On that note, why exactly Toad Man was dragging him around at all was also still unclear to him)

(5 which was bold coming from someone who smelt like literal shit)

(6 some might even say, ineffable)


	5. Chapter 5

Warlock wasn’t clear on what exactly had happened back in the bookshop. Crowley had shielded them with his wings, a safe cocoon of black feathers, protecting them, keeping them safe from harm while Aziraphale had done…something. Hastur had vanished, and Crowlet had ushered all of them outside onto the street and into his car.

He looked barely human now, speeding through London. There was no white left in his eyes, his teeth were too sharp, his tongue split, and from where Warlock was sitting in the back of the car – Chava safely in his arms, Adam on one side and Steve, who still refused to open his eyes, on the other – he could see the steadily growing patch of dark scales creeping up Crowley’s neck.

None of the traffic lights dared turn red as they saw the black Bentley approaching, every police officer in the general vicinity of London suddenly remembered that they’d left the stove on at home, and more than one unsuspecting passer-by found themselves miraculously escaping certain death. If Aziraphale had any particular thoughts or feelings on the Demon’s driving behaviour, he didn’t let it on, simply kept bracing himself against the car’s roof and saving lives as they drove towards where exactly, Warlock didn’t know, and he was too afraid to ask. Crowley obviously had a clear goal in mind as the city in the rear-view mirror got smaller and smaller, the road narrower, fields of green stretching on both sides, as sheep and cattle grassed behind lopsided fences and the modern townhouses were replaced by older, cosier, cottages. There was something familiar about this, Warlock thought, something that he knew, something that spoke of home.

There was a sign, bleached by the sun and half reclaimed by nature, hidden behind an overgrown tree, informing them that they were now entering Lower Tadfield and –

_Oh._

It wasn’t so much a memory as it was another Feeling.

_I’ve been here before._

The realisation hit Warlock with all the approximate force of a freight train at full speed, images of a life that was not his own clouding his vision. Next to him, Adam tensed and reached out to squeeze Warlock’s thigh, not speaking, not even looking at the other teenager, but clearly wanting to offer some kind of comfort for something Warlock didn’t – couldn’t – understand.

They turned into a little street and there, behind a lush, green hedge, was a house. Nondescript and like any other small cottage in any other small village, and yet Warlock could feel that this particular one was special. His suspicion was confirmed when a young woman stepped outside as if she had been waiting for them, her long, dark hair pulled back into a ponytail.

The Bentley came to a stop with screeching tires and Crowley jumped outside.

“Come on in,” the woman greeted him, a deep crease of worry between her eyes. Warlock watched as Crowley snapped his fingers and the remaining three doors of the car flew open. “The kettle’s just boiled.”

* * *

Adam trailed behind while the others rushed into Anathema’s house, his eyes trained on the road leading up to the village. He was imagining Dog break through the line of trees any second now, happily bellowing and jumping up Adam’s legs, but nothing happened.

“Adam!” Anathema called out, making Adam jump before he jogged up to the door.

The inside of the cottage looked the same as the last time he’d been there a couple of months ago when the Them had been over for tea and Pepper had started a heated discussion about Brexit. Currently, Warlock was sitting at the table, next to Greasy Johnson who was staring at the cup of tea in his hands, his face approximately the colour of soggy, cold porridge. Aziraphale was also frozen in place, except for his eyes who kept tracking Crowley’s frantic pacing up and down the kitchen, Chava safely back in the Demon’s arms, pulling on his hair.

“What happened?” Anathema asked calmly, sipping her own tea.

Aziraphale, still looking at Crowley, answered, “One of Hell’s agents payed us a visit.”

The Witch nodded, seemingly unbothered by the news. “No one with harmful intentions is able to enter this house. Demon or otherwise,” she informed them.

“Thank you, dear.”

Anathema waved him off. “Now,” she went on, “The baby?” Her eyes travelled to the baby in question. Out of all of them, it really did seem like Chava liked Crowley the most.

“That is…complicated.”

Anathema’s eyebrows shot up. “Complicated,” she repeated, doubt and disbelief lacing her voice, “You didn’t kidnap it, did you?”

Behind them, the pacing stopped. Everyone in the room slowly turned around to properly look at Crowley, yellow eyes wide and his teeth bared as he hissed, adjusting his arms around Chava just so, holding her a little bit tighter, a little bit closer.

“No, my dear,” Aziraphale quickly said, “We did not kidnap them.” The Angel was wringing his hands in his lap, glancing at Crowley who remained silent and at distance, then at Adam who genuinely had no idea how to explain the proverbial elephant in the room. “It – that is to say – our old bosses –” Aziraphale stuttered, “Gabriel and Beelzebub brought the child to Adam for…safekeeping.”

“Abandoned,” Crowley chimed in, his voice bitter and angry and hurt, “They abandoned them.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale admitted, “Yes, they very much did.”

Anathema blinked. “O – kay,” she said slowly, running one hand through her hair and loosening the ponytail before redoing it, opening it again, and eventually leaving it as it was, dark curls falling into her face, “Are you saying the baby is…” she trailed off, visibly struggling with finding the right words, “That it is…”

“The offspring of Archangel Gabriel and Prince of Hell Beelzebub, yes,” Aziraphale confirmed, a slight blush darkening his pale cheeks.

“Right.” Anathema nodded, sipping her tea. Adam had always admired her; her ability to appear collected even when everything around her was falling apart, and this was no different. She took the news of an Angel and a Demon producing a child in stride and with her head held high, her sharp mind working furiously. “Have you tried talking to them?”

“And say what?” Crowley snapped, “Hey guys, sorry to bother you, just letting you know that we’ve adopted your kid and we’d appreciate it if you kept the world turning?” His voice was laced with venom and sarcasm and Anathema looked unaffected, simply levelling the Demon with a flat look.

“Yes,” she said, which sent Crowley into a long and exasperated groan, “What’s the worst that could happen?” she pressed on, “They’re afraid of you. They think they can’t kill you. And they seem to care about the baby.”

Crowley sputtered, blinking rapidly. “What’s the worst that could – what’s the – they tried to kill us.” He looked near hysteric, Adam noted, clasping to Chava like a lifeline, looking pleadingly at Aziraphale. “Tell her, Angel.”

The Angel, however, returned Crowley’s gaze with a mixture of sympathy, sheepishness, and determination. “She does have a point, darling.”

Crowley’s face went blank as his mind froze, then turned a deadly, Windows blue, before crashing completely. “Nononononono.” He shook his head vehemently, trying to regain his ability to form coherent sentences while simultaneously pushing down the stabbing pain his heart. “No, don’t do this to me, Aziraphale. Don’t bloody do this to me. Not again.”

“Crowley –”

“Angel. Please, don’t.”

Something was happening here, something that went high and far beyond Adam’s understanding1, but Aziraphale seemed to have caught up if the way he shot out of the chair and towards Crowley was anything to go by. The Angel gently framed Crowley’s face with his hands, forcing Crowley to look at him.

“You silly, old Serpent,” he muttered, “I have no desire whatsoever to rekindle my relations with Gabriel and I am, to be completely frank, a tad bit offended that you’d think otherwise. I merely want an explanation. Creating a life and then abandoning it in such a manner…” The Angel shook his head. “I want an explanation and I want to know whether or not we will have to take precautions. If Chava is human we cannot simply run off to the stars together, after all.”

Maybe it was rude, but Adam couldn’t tear his eyes away from the two supernatural beings, watched them as their foreheads touched and their breaths mingled.

“I’m not letting you anywhere near Gabriel without me there to keep you safe,” Crowley whispered eventually.

“I would expect nothing less.” And even though Adam couldn’t see Aziraphale’s face, he knew the Angel was smiling softly.

(1 Adam couldn’t have possibly known that, for Crowley, this was Alpha Centauri all over again, right down to Aziraphale’s stubborn2 belief that Heaven could be negotiated with)

(2 read: naive)

* * *

Sitting in Miss Device’s kitchen, Steve thought he finally understood what people meant when they spoke of _shock_. He was shivering with cold, despite the sweat clinging to his forehead, and at some point his brain had simply stopped computing what was happening around him as Miss Device had kept handing him cups of tea and plates with biscuits that Steve had accepted without really noticing what it was, while her voice had kept up a constant, lively chatter about climate change, capitalism, and the eternal debate of whether Jaffa Cakes were cakes or biscuits, until the baby had started crying and she had left to help calm it down .

Next to Steve a chair was pulled back, the screeching sound of wood against wood making him wince, and when he turned to look who it was, he more than a little surprised to see Adam Young smiling at him.

“You okay?”

Steve blinked at the question. “Yeah,” he answered, not trusting himself to say anything more than that.

_I just want to go home._

As if hearing his thoughts, Adam said, “I’ll be over soon. Crowley and Aziraphale are taking care of it.” Steve had noticed that the _Devil_ and the _Angel_ had left a good while ago, after intense-looking, hushed conversations, and a lot of fretting on the _Angel’s_ part. “I’m sorry you got dragged into all this,” Adam went on, sounding genuinely sorry, “That man that took you, he was after me.”

“Why?” He hadn’t meant to say it out loud but apparently his mouth had decided to give voice to his thought, traitorous bugger, and now it was too late.

Adam, however, didn’t seem to mind. “It’s a long story,” he explained, “But a few years ago Crowley’s and Aziraphale’s old bosses wanted me to do something. Something bad. I refused, and they didn’t like that very much.”

“He said –” Steve began, furrowing his brow and trying to recall Toad Guy’s words, “He said he wanted to make Crowley pay for his crimes.”

“It’s a long story,” Adam repeated and even though that really didn’t clear things up, Steve decided he might be better off not knowing.

There’d always been something strange about Adam, something unsettling. His ragtag group of friends was a bit too obsessed with the other boy, for Steve’s liking, or at least that’s what it had always looked like. From up close, now, Adam seemed harmless enough. Charismatic, yes, but also kind and caring.

“How do you know them?” Steve found himself asking, “The _Devil_ and the _Angel_?”

If Adam found Steve’s choice of words weird, he didn’t show it. “They helped me when their old bosses came after me. They’re good people.”

Steve nodded his head just once and went back to staring at the table. There was nothing else to say. He would have expected Adam to stand up and leave again, but he didn’t. Instead, he stayed next to Steve and started nibbling on the last biscuit, apparently comfortable with the silence stretching between them.

And then the door to the cottage opened and the _Devil_ and the _Angel_ walked back in.

“What happened?” Adam asked immediately.

Steve noticed the lingering tension in the _Angel’s_ shoulders and the coldness in his eyes as he readjusted him waistcoat and answered with an audible huff, “We will not be bothered again.”

“What does that mean?” the boy named Warlock asked, baby cradled against his him.

The _Devil_ strode over to him and gently took the baby into his own arms. “Michael found out,” he explained, “She wasn’t amused. Apparently Sandalphone’s been blackmailing Gabriel for a while now, threatening to tell her. When Gabriel gave Chava to Adam, he did.” Looking at him now, all lanky limbs and sharp angles, a baby in his arms, Steve found he didn’t look like the Devil, safe for the eyes, that is.

“Michael was ready to have Chava executed and put Gabriel on trial for treason,” the _Angel_ went on, putting an arm around the non-Devil’s waist and pulling him close, “But we managed to reason with her. After all, two Angels entering relations with a Demon can’t be a coincidence, and Gabriel is an Archangel, he is well respected amongst the Heavenly Host, and it would be ever so embarrassing for Heaven if this came out.”

“Everyone’s gonna take some time off now,” the not-Devil said, leaning into the _Angel’s_ touch, “Michael said she’s open for a new arrangement with Hell, one that will declare Earth off limits.”

Steve had no idea what half of that meant but the overall consensus of the room seemed to be that it was good news.

“So, there won’t be a war?” Adam asked.

The _Angel_ shook his head. “It appears,” he said, “That we have averted Armageddon for good this time.”

That sounded like good news, indeed.


	6. 20 years later

The person entering the Ritz was well known by the staff – most had watched her grow up, after all, and those who hadn’t, only had to learn of her last name to know that she was special.

Chava Fell was tall, with strong arms and long legs. Her short, black hair was slicked back, a pair of golden snakes dangling from her ears, eyes hidden by a pair of stylish sunglasses. She was wearing pastel purple trousers that matched her waistcoat, and a black leatherjacket that should have been at odds with the rest of the outfit but somehow wasn’t.

“Hello Ari,” she greeted the Head Waiter, “How are you doing? How’re the kids?”

“Very well, thank you for asking, Miss Fell,” Ari answered, “Rachel recently took up piano lessons, and Melisa conducts science experiments in our kitchen.”

A blinding smile spread over Chava’s face. “That reminds me of a few books I have that I’m sure Melisa would love.”

“You’re too kind, Miss Fell,” Ari responded.

Chava waved him off and glanced at the doors leading to the dining hall. “Are they already in?” she asked, even though she knew the answer.

“They are,” Ari confirmed, “Let me show you to your table.”

The occasional head turned as Chava walked past but she ignored them all in favour of looking at her family. Crowley was clad in all black, as always. An elegant dress clung to her slim frame and her long hair was hanging down her back like fiery waves. Next to her, Aziraphale was sipping his wine and staring lovingly at his partner as if she’d personally hung the stars1. Uncle Warlock was there too, Chava noted with delight, as was Adam. The couple had recently gotten married and the honeymoon in Italy had done them good it seemed.

“Chava, my dear,” Aziraphale greeted her, standing up to press a kiss to her cheek.

“Dad.”

Crowley didn’t bother standing, but then again, Chava wouldn’t have expected her to, instead the Demon smirked and raised her wine glass in a silent toast before emptying the whole thing. Chava rolled her eyes, taking the free seat between Crowley and Warlock.

“Wine, dearest?” Aziraphale asked, holding the bottle in his hand and pouring some for Chava when she nodded, “How was your day?”

“Not too bad,” Chava answered, taking a sip from the wine, “Gabriel sent a letter.”

Next to her, Crowley tensed ever so slightly. “Did he, now?” she asked, missing casual by about a mile, shooting straight past nonchalant, and hitting alerted and suspicious dead centre.

“He did.” She was being mean, she knew. Crowley was simply concerned and protective, but the reality was that those worries were completely unfounded. The 2010 Peace Treaty between Heaven and Hell had calmed things down considerably, declaring Earth neutral Territory. No Demon or Angel had any business coming here unless they had special permission from their respective Head Offices. Not even Gabriel or Beelzebub. But even without that, she was untouchable2. 

She was safe.

“What’d he want, then?” Crowley asked sourly.

“To wish me a happy birthday.”

“Oh.”

Aziraphale was giving her the Look. He knew what she was doing, winding up Crowley, and he was visibly fighting hard against finding it amusing. Biting back her own smile, Chava buried her face in her wine glass, just when their first course arrived, giving Chava a good excuse to divert her attention away from her parents and towards the goodness on her plate.

Her love for food was definitely something she’d learned from Aziraphale, just as Crowley had taught her all about good music and fast cars3.

They made for a strange family, some people might have argued, but to Chava it seemed perfect, and she couldn’t wait to spend the rest of eternity with them, dining at the Ritz, feeding ducks, and getting drunk on wine in the backroom of an old, little bookshop in Soho.

And somewhere that was neither here nor there, the Almighty, in all Her ineffability, smiled and shuffled the cards.

(1 which she had but that was besides the point)

(2 Rumour had it there was something on Earth that was neither Angel nor Demon. That was not human. That was something new. Something that could not die. Something that was loved and protected.)

(3 and while she may not have had her own vintage Bentley, she did have a Harley Davidson from the early 2000s)


End file.
